I am sitting in this bar alone,
as the sun outside waver to rise.
The cappuccino gets cold,
and an old song plays on the radio.
Fog, rain, and the door opening.
A low-vibe day,
I’m snuggling undercover with a thought,
play.
And the thoughts in my head wreck havoc,
while the world spins slowly around,
People Help the People now,
exploding ground in paradise.
And that boy crying for help,
he has learned to swallow the venom,
to keep anger down,
and to fake a scenery of plastic success.
That boy has learned to smile,
to see beauty in a simple drop of rain.
to feel how cold can be a refusal,
to feel how wrong and perfect can be to love.
And the thoughts in my head wreck havoc,
a speech I can’t get,
you, sat on the sofa, snorting snow,
my love sinking in the ocean,
my knife stabbing your back,
the blood from your heart,
a flowing creek of crooked thistles,
and then liberty.
Two other bodies enter the room,
they speak my mother tongue,
I don’t want to hear my mother tongue anymore,
as the bombs explode on the boot,
and children are killed for the sake of the Unknown
the words in my head wreck havoc.